There’s a very sad romance at the heart of 50 First Dates. It keeps peeking its head through only to be smacked back down by the makers to remind people that it’s still a comedy. Only it shouldn’t be. The structure of it all will leave most Adam Sandler fans bewildered and general viewers in a state of melancholy. The laughs are few, far-between and not worthy of more than a chuckle in most cases anyway. But the menial and sparing attempts at laughter make this film an oddity beyond Punch-Drunk Love to leave audiences wondering what the attempt really was.

In it’s high-concept premise right out of Memento, Drew Barrymore plays Lucy Whitmore, who due to a car accident has developed short-term memory loss. Not every 15 minutes like Guy Pearce did, but at the start of every morning like Dana Carvey suffered in Clean Slate some 8 years ago.

Sandler’s character is an oceanic vet who has made a habit of dating visitors to the island of Hawaii. They don’t stay long and he has some guilt-free fun. This state-of-mind, quickly set-up in the opening scene, completely disappears when he lays eyes on Lucy. In one of the most bizarre Meet-Cutes in Hollywood history, Sandler’s Henry Roth shows Lucy how to build a better waffle house, a habit that Lucy makes out of her breakfast instead of eating the damn thing.

Henry’s in for a rude awakening when his lovely day is completely forgotten in the next. Despite Lucy being a local, Henry is smitten and suffers us through a lame montage of attempting to keep Lucy’s radar. This includes the exact same bit that Winona Ryder used in Mr. Deeds to get his attention. As if to jog our own memories with in-jokes, Sandler also references a character’s Happy Gilmore-like golf swing as the most ridiculous he’s ever seen and performs a subdued "hahahaha...shutup" from Billy Madison on a nosey customer.

But then there is Lucy’s family. Her dad (Blake Clark) was also involved in the accident but came away with minor injuries and her brother (Sean Astin, providing a few amusing bits) is an exercise junky who denies ever having taken steroids. They love Lucy. So much in fact that they have managed to replay the exact same day over and over for her as to spare her the shell shock of her affliction. Perhaps not the sanest decision to giving her the same newspaper every morning or repainting portions of the house, but their care for her is undeniable and quite touching.

Lucy’s condition can certainly be played for comedy, but the approach in 50 First Dates leans towards the heartbreak of dealing with such a mental illness. I kept thinking about those afflicted with Alzheimer’s and how an interesting love story can be fashioned around someone who keeps forgetting that they love. Groundhog Day dealt with similar themes and still managed to be hilarious. In another month, it will be interesting to see how Jim Carrey and Charlie Kaufmann approach it in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. 50 First Dates takes itself so seriously at times that its attempts at comedy liken one trying to propose to their girlfriend and continually having their best friend coming over to fart in their mouth.

And I’m looking at you Rob Schneider! This time he’s playing a Hawaiian local always hanging around Henry, interrupting the flow of the romance with inappropriate asides and general wackiness. You can’t do it, Rob. Not in this movie. In fact, not in any movie. And I’m not singling you out. Henry’s adrongynous foreign assistant is disturbingly unfunny and unless you’re Monty Python there’s nothing really humorous about Spam. Even in the middle of a poignant trip to a mental health center, we’re introduced to a character named Ten-Second Tom, an unfortunate soul whose name tells you all you need. Except he’s played by Sandler regular, Allen Covert, casting an unnecessary goof element over his scenes which aren’t even in the neighborhood of funny. Only Astin and Dan Aykroyd provide a few knowing guffaws.

Sandler is the wrong person for material like this. He’s incapable of producing a recognizable emotion in scenes that won’t work without one. Punch-Drunk Love was tailored for his limits and it worked beautifully. I suppose it’s a sign of growth that he doesn’t attack anyone in this movie, but certainly not of his acting.

Washing my hands clean of the failed attempt, I now want someone to go out and make the serious version of this love story. Traditionalize it all you want. Make the hero the best friend always trying to tell the girl he loves how he feels only for it to be wiped out the next morning. It could still be funny in a dark way, but have the requisite sadness that 50 First Dates keeps scraping the jar for. It admirably follows through on its premise without copping out in the end, but it only calls to attention how beautiful and sweet it could have all been. Might as well cut out the comedy anyway, cause it sure as hell wasn’t that funny to begin with. Unless vomiting walruses are your thing.